In his comatose sleep
by Anjelique
Summary: AU What if the whole Zombie Apocalypse was just Rick's coma induced nightmare? What if his brain used random people he met as characters of said nightmare? These are the stories of Carol, Sophia, Merle, Daryl and Andrea in a world not overrun by walkers. Manly Caryl with some Merle/Andrea thrown in the mix.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: this is an experiment; I haven't written a WIP in a long time (The amount of good Caryl fics scares me!) and I might take some time between a chapter and the other, but I hope to update once a week (I'm crossing my fingers!)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or the characters; I'm just borrowing them !**

PROLOGUE

The brain is a wonderful machine; it can store lots of information and pop them up whenever you don't expect them to.

Rick doesn't know about this, he is sleeping into the coma, but his brain is awake, it is dreaming about a world overran by zombies. The physicians don't know about it, they can just tell his wife Lori that he is still alive, somewhere, that she doesn't' have to lose her hopes of him waking up someday, any day.

So, Rick is dreaming, but not all the people in his mind aren't fake. Scary thing, right? A sleeping man can create a world in his own head, and put random strangers in it, because their memories had just popped up and had nicely intertwined with the product of his synapses.

Rick doesn't know, nor does Lori or even the young neurologist who picks and pokes Rick almost every day. The young man wants to know why the exams have those results, why the brain is so active but doesn't allow the sheriff to wake up. But that's another story, we shall focus on two broken families which exist and, somehow, remained impressed somewhere in Rick's mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or the characters!**

THE DIXONS

A photo had impressed Rick, not a family.

He had been reading absentmindedly an issue of GQ in the dentist's waiting room. He was waiting patiently for Lori and Carl to exit the doctor's room and the magazine was there. If asked, he could have never tell anybody about the articles, he wasn't even sure to have read them; he hadn't really observed the photo shoot of a blonde male model in drag, he had just briefly thought 'You got balls'. If he, Rick, had even tried this kind of outfit for the annual Halloween party, he would have never survived the embarrassment; this guy, instead, had been paid to be print like that on a magazine. This train of thoughts wasn't this coherent, in fact, with the magazine closed, he forgot about the model. But Rick was a cop, and his subconscious was trained in storing and remembering faces. His rational mind had forgotten about the model, but his face was printed somewhere in those synapses the neurologists don't know the function yet.

That handsome face had been buried away for months and was a sluggish image, at first, when he ran into the guy in a small city near Atlanta. He had been there with Shane, cooperating with the local sheriff office to stop the traffic of car components. Nothing big, but still cars had disappeared from Cynthiana and its surroundings and re-appeared in Atlanta, precisely near the cute small city called Hellhole. They had needed months to figure out the threads of the whole organization, and how cut them down forever.

The night we are interested in, the combined police forces are sharing some drinks to celebrate in the local bar. It's an overcrowded place with dim light, smoke filled air and a band torturing some kind of folk tune. The local hicks don't seem to care, but a fence separates the stage from the rest of the room, a big giveaway of how the locals would react to music not of their liking.

Rick, Shane, Donovan (the local sheriff) and his vice Adam had been drinking their third round of beers and Share was telling of the one time he had hooked up with this Victoria's Secrets gal when the model had entered the bar with some other men in tow. With the make-up replaced by dirt, Rick hadn't been able to recognize him at first glance, but when he did, he wondered why this guy was hanging out with some hicks in a hellhole (no pun intended) like this one.

"The Dixons are in town" said the sheriff

"So what?" Shane was pissed; the other man had cut him off mid sentence

"Trouble" answered the vice, and then added "The younger one, Daryl, is not the real problem. You see the man with the leather vest? That's the older, Merle, he is just a meth head, good for nothing but causing trouble"

"The younger just goes with the flow" said the sheriff "If Merle starts a fight, surely Daryl will be the one kicking major asses to please him. It had always been like this with those two. I thought Daryl was different from his brother and old man, he had finished high school and left town" the sheriff lowered his voice and gestured for Rick and Shane to come closer "I heard he did some modeling and shit to support himself. He ran off to become an actor, you know, that's what Nelly Baggins had heard, but if he is back, things didn't go so smoothly for him in Hollywood"

"I saw him once during a high school recital" whispered Adam "he wasn't all that good, the applauses must have gotten to his head. Dixons aren't worthy the air they breathe, let alone acting".

To Rick the words seemed too harsh, but this wasn't his town, so he couldn't tell if the man was right or not. He had wanted to inquire more, but Donovan started talking about something else, someone shouted to the band and Shane elbowed him to show him a cute girl near the counter. Again Daryl, and now his brother, were stashed in Rick's memory and left there, because other things just came along.

In his sleep the sheriff didn't recognize the man who exited the forest after a hunt, nor did he when it came to the man chained on the roof of a department store in a dreamed Atlanta. Still, those two men exist and have a story worth telling. But, for now, we stop here; there are other people Rick had met before the coma. People who connected in real life and in Rick's apocalyptic dream as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: a huge thank you to LopezG, Crowfeather's girl and Jaded 79 (are you into the Merle/Andrea paring to? I'm always happy to know I'm not the only one!) who left a review! This one is really short, but I have those two big exams coming, plus this chapter just seemed right to be like this *headdesk***

**Disclaimes: I don't own The Walking Dead and its characters, I'm just borrow them out of love and respect.**

THREE WOMEN AND A CHILD

When it comes to Carol, her abusive spouse and their daughter Sophia, the meeting had been brief, nothing more than a couple of minutes.

Rick and his family were on the famous trip to Grand Canyon, which ended with Carl being ill and their car turning back to Cynthiana. They had stopped to refill the tank and go to the loo. Rick was standing out of the car as the gasoline was being pumped into the tank and he was observing the people coming in and out the small restaurant. He sat his eyes on a bulky man who was dragging a grey haired woman towards a battled out Toyota, as their daughter was fearfully holding her mum's tee. Rick couldn't decipher the man's words; too many cars, the radio playing some stupid tune and Carl's sounds of distress were all he could really hear, but he is half sure the woman's name was Carol and the kid's Sophia, or maybe it was just his imagination, he heard those name but he had no real interest in connecting them with the faces entering and exiting the restaurant. Rick registered the signs of an abusive marriage: the man's hand around the woman's bicep, her eyes casted down, the way she hurried to match her husband's footsteps and their daughter's sad gaze. Rick was just not focused enough to truly analyze the dynamics of the family, let alone do something, he just drank everything in, and memorized it.

We just want to add something to demonstrate how strange life is, or how wicked the human mind can be. Rick has a cousin, the gentlest person in the whole world but, nonetheless, Rick's mind had used his name, Ed, to name the abusive husband of the dream. Ironically, in real life, the man's name is really Ed and his wife and daughter are a Carol and a Sophia.

Andrea and Amy had a minor car accident on their way to college. Andrea was driving Amy to the Atlanta campus when the local drunk, Duane Clifton, had invaded their side of the road; Andrea was left with no chance but drive the car off the road and crashing against a tall tree to avoid the truck. Both women were just scared but unharmed; Duane himself had called the sheriff's office and had helped the two sisters out of their car.

When Rick and Shane had arrived, Amy was hysterics and Andrea was gruffly trying to calm her. She didn't hide her annoyance when the mechanic told her the car needed a three days fixing; her sister was on the verge of tears, she needed to get to the campus in time, she couldn't lose her classes! Shane's half-hidden laugh hadn't helped in calming the younger girl, whose reaction just fuelled the elder's annoyance even more. It was the proverbial dog biting its own tail; Rick wanted to tell Amy he had lost his first week of classes and nothing had happened to his grades, but he figured it wouldn't really matter: he knew women, when they are out of their mind no words could make the difference and he didn't want two hysterical women on the side of the road, so he just drove them to the office and tried to find a solution.

Only after they put Amy on the first train to Atlanta ("A train, really?" she had squeaked "Yes, that or you stay with me" her sister had responded), Andrea had calmed down enough to give Rick and Shane a sorrowful gaze

"I'm sorry, I haven't tanked you yet. She is such a baby sometimes" she offered

"All younger siblings are babyish in a way or another" Rick had told her, his mind drifting briefly to the kid he and Lori were trying to conceive, their last chance in the mess their marriage had become.

After the woman had left the office, Rick had the chance to see her right before her departure. She had thanked him again and, thanks to the long glance between her and Shane, Rick knew they had slept together at least once. That was none of his business, but his cop's eyes were trained to pick up all the unspoken information. He just did it, absentmindedly, Rick didn't really care about Shane's wild sex life, his own was problematic enough.

So, here we are. We are going to leave Rick in his hospital bed; his coma induced dream doesn't concern us anymore. We better focus elsewhere, on a small town not far from Atlanta to meet Carol and Sophia again.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm so very sorry for the big delay with this chapter; it had been a pain to write and still, I am not 100% happy with the results. *headdesk*. Will you forgive me if I told you that I'm working on the next chapter as we speak and that I have claimed a prompt just for Caryl?**

**Thank you, thank you thank you to YouthINaisa6, Crowfeather's girl, Guest, LopezG (they will all meet, I promise!) and Jaded 79 (how is the Merle/Andrea fic going on?) and to the people who favored/followed this silly story! **

**Disclaimes: I don't own The Walking Dead and its characters, I'm just borrow them out of love and respect.**

SMALL STEPS

Everything felt like an achievement: open her eyes every morning, make breakfast for Sophia, decide to stroll in the park or try a different route to work; everything was like a small victory earned after a great fight against herself. Jaqui, back at the safe house, had told her she would have felt this way, she had described Carol how, when she decided to leave her abusive husband, every single decision after that felt like fighting her way, like a toddler walking small steps towards its goal. She had used that phrase "Small steps Carol"; she always said that to help her fight her fears.

When she had ran from Ed she had no idea of what she was going to do with her life, she had been terrified by everything, not only the thought of Ed finding her and Sophia. Her freedom had been denied to her for so long, she had no idea of how using it. With Ed she did her chores and followed his orders because she had no other choice; when she had arrived at the safe house everything felt like a fight. She couldn't eat nor step out of the bed, even the air was a load on her chest, crushing her lugs; thankfully Jaqui rescued her. She really saved her life with her only advice "It is all about small steps Carol" and it was. She had just to convince herself, not that it was easy, and it still wasn't for her.

Every morning she had to force herself to open her eyes and start her day; the first seconds always felt like moving a mountain, but the pride she felt for herself when she managed to complete her quest, was worth it. For the first time in years, she could look at her reflection without hiding herself from her own gaze; she still had to put up with all the things the marriage with Ed had left behind and sometimes she could just hold her own gaze for a couple of seconds, but it was another small step. She didn't have to overdo it; that was what she learnt at the safe house: she didn't have to put herself under pressure, she was learning being herself again and she had the right to take all the time she needed, without judging herself if doing something stupid like cooking breakfast, felt like moving Sisyphus's rock.

Carol and Sophia had moved to Hellhole a couple of months ago. The name did little justice to the cute, small town. Carol didn't want to move in a place named that, at first, it wasn't in a place she had imagined starting a new life; she didn't have any choice though, it was far enough to be safe and there were people there ready to help her, people connected with the safe house. She accepted.

At the bus station, after a long ride, a young woman named Maggie welcomed the two of them. She was chatty and her younger sister linked with Sophia almost immediately. The younger Greene sister had a vague idea of who they were, it was Maggie who had taken care of everything. She had found a small house with a tiny garden and a white fence in the suburbia; she said it was on the way to her dad's farm. Luckily for Carol, Dr. Horvath needed a new secretary; did she want to step up for the role? Carol hesitated, all those news to process, she was scared, but in desperate need of money. She had managed to save some, mostly from a secret bank account her dad had opened for her, but they weren't going to last forever. She had to say yes, but again, she wasn't disappointed.

Dr. Horvath was a middle-aged man, widowed and fiercely in love with his job; he was almost seventy, but he still worked at the Atlanta hospital, ran his small clinic and visited his sick patients at home, if they couldn't move. He wasn't directly involved with the safe house, but he had seen his fair share of abuse, to abhor it and to be willing to help.

Carol's first week was horrible, she wasn't used to have all eyes on her and she was scared of making mistakes, and she did a couple of them, nothing too big but she was terrified of Dr. Horvath's reaction; he just smiled at Carol and told her that one time his late wife Irma had swapped Mrs. Blake analysis with ol' Big John's, the results? Big John thought he was pregnant ("He is a good guy- he had told her- but not the brightest of his class") and Mrs. Blake's prostate was doing well.

"How we laughed about that! - Dr. Horvath's eyes shone with memories "Even on her death bed my Irma laughed about it- he smiled- You are doing great Carol".

She had to excuse herself and go to the bathroom to cry, feeling the knot that was her stomach loosened a bit. She forced herself to smile at her reflection because her small mistake wasn't that important and, most of all, nobody could punish her anymore, if she was going to do something wrong.

Driving Sophia to the church summer park, Carol thought that the people from Hellhole should change the name of the town: a cozy place with a name like that, what an oxymoron! Sure, Hellhole was a small place, the kind of town where everybody knows everybody. The main street was the shopping street, mums still brought their children to the park and she didn't have to go to the mall to go grocery shopping, the store was next to Dr. Horvath's clinic; in short, the kind of town usually portrayed in movies. She could go to the cafeteria and hear the newest gossip or let Sophia walk to the Morales house to play with the girls, wasn't it a gulp of fresh air? Having her baby girl interact with other children of her age? Yes it was.

Carol was checking the stack of medical records neatly piled on the desk, she wanted to sort them out before the patients started coming in. The clinic had already computerize the whole archive, but Dr. Horvath couldn't use a computer to save his own life, so they kept a printed version of the records for the doctor to consult, the only downside effect was the enormous amount of paper involved, and the necessity to buy new cabinets and organize them in the only spare room. Currently, behind Carol's desk, were four full cabinets (they were in desperate need of new ones) and she was trying to figure out a way to put those new files there. _Ignore the lack of space and just squash the things there will never work, right?_She mused facing the cream-colored walls shaking her head; of course, being a neat person, it was just a wishful thinking. She could probably store them in one of the carton box and ask Dr. Horvath if she could threw the records of dead people into the bin, they had the computerize version, if needed.

Carol smiled to herself, her features lightening. She had never pictured herself at work again, free _again. _The feeling wad intoxicating, heady, sometimes, and scary. Again, all this freedom, all at the same time, she was deadly afraid of making mistakes, another time. Sophia had suffered enough because of her, because of her inanity; she mustn't fail her baby girl. Her Sophia wad going to be happy, serene and away from Ed!

The small bell rang, voicing the arriving of Andrea, the physiotherapist. She was a tall, blond girl, always wearing loose gym clothes and the expression of someone who knew his value; she wasn't unpleasant though. She worked with Dr. Horvath and doing some shifts at the Atlanta hospital, but mostly she treated the patients of Hellhole and from the nearby town. Carol was stunned by the number of people in need of Andrea's help, she soon learnt that between the rural and industry worker and the people hurt after domestic incidents, Andrea had her hands full.

Truth to be told, Carol was curious to know why a talented physiotherapist like her had chosen to retire herself in Hellhole. From the praise of Dr. Horvath Carol could imagine Andrea to be highly requested, all US hospital fighting over her and she was living in a small apartment over the grocery shop. Sometimes Carol thought she had worked up enough courage to ask, but in the end, she never did, fearing their budding friendship would broke.

Andrea had bought coffee, her other morning habit was opening the door using her shoulder, her cell wedged against one ear, her sister's loud voice coming out from the speaker.

Andrea smiled and Carol waved back, she held her hands to grab the cups, waiting patiently for Amy to finish her ramblings. Eventually Andrea managed to end the call and snorted

"What is it this morning?" Carol asked with a small smile

"Vibrators – Andrea sipped her coffee and made a face to a wide eyed Carol – don't even start!"

"I would never- she smiled again- although I'm quite curious, just saying" her smile widened

"It's for a birthday. Sunday one of her friends turns twenty-one, a vibrator is their gift and Amy is asking me for advices!"

"Give her my number" Carol said, calmly enjoying Andrea spurting her coffee out of her nose

"What? No!"

"It won't be a problem" Carol managed to keep her poker face for a couple of seconds more before a wide smirk wormed its way on her features.

The two women stared at each other and laughed again. Carol was happy; those were the kind of things people took for granted, she mused, laughing about vibrators with a friend. She had another fit of giggles and didn't even think about all those times Ed had suffocated her happiness; for once, her mind didn't go there and she realized it only hours after.

"All right – Andrea helped her cleaning all the spurted coffee – whose bones do I have to crack today?"

Carol simply handed her the list and checked the payments on the computer. She used to be an utter 'n00b',as Sophia had once said, but she was learning all those Internet stuff; she had to admit they were quite cool and useful, like this 'home banking' thing: just one click and the bill situation of the clinic was in front of her eyes, she didn't need to queue anymore, what a relief!

"Oh no! Not him again!" Andrea huffed and banged her head on the table

"Who?" she lounged towards her

"Merle Dixon, I hate him".

Carol furrowed her brows at the answer, the redneck, the utterly unpleasant one-handed redneck.

Carol prided herself for not being a closed-minded person. Sure, she was mousy and a bit shy, but she had always tried to avoid judging people. With Merle she had to do an exception; the man was unpleasant (she had been Ed Peletier's wife for fifteen years, she knew an awful lot about unpleasantness), coarse and allergic to soap. He never thanked Andrea or, at least, tried to be gentle or pretended not to be the poster boy for redneckdness. Moreover, his therapy had just begun and, judging from the medical record, Andrea was going to have him as a patient for, at least, six months, three days per week.

"I can't stand him too" he made her think of Ed; those two shared the same indifference to the other people, they just crunched them under their feet, and they loved every single second of it.

Merle had a sly aura around him that made her shudder; he had come three times already, and she had to fight the urge to go away, grab Sophia and run to Alaska. Because of her job, Andrea had to _touch_ him and Carol felt her stomach churn at the mere thought. Poor Andrea had to feel with her hands those layers of grim, three days per week, while that _man _probably stared at her cleavage, saying crude things to her, Carol imagined. Not that Andrea needed any rescue; Carol had witnessed grown up men cry after a session with Andrea, who could, obviously, fight Merle back, if not with her words, using her knowledge. Still, the mother in Carol cringed at the thought of Andrea alone with Merle Dixon, for an _entire_ hour. Carol stiffened as Andrea's mobile went off. The younger woman checked her text messages and huffed

"Oh please!"

"What's wrong?"

"It's my sister, again. My God, she is so clinging sometimes!"

"Don't be so hard with her. This is her first year away from home"

"I wasn't like her, I barely returned home every summer!"

"And never asked for info concerning vibrators" said Carol

"Of course not, I bought it all by myself!" It was Carol's time to choke on her coffee while laughing.

Dr. Horvath got in and just rose is prominent eyebrows at the laughing women: he didn't want to know what had caused the hilarity; when it came to the female population he firmly believed that some things should be left unsaid.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I sorry this chapter is awfully late. Life is throwing lots of lemon and I'm trying to squeeze lemonade out of them. I just hope to be less hectic with the next updates!**

**Disclaimes: I don't own **_**The Walking Dead**_** and its characters, I'm just borrow them out of love and respect.**

TRY

The whole life of Daryl Dixon could be summarized used the phrase "I tried and therefore no one should criticize me".

He was born in the wrong way of Hellhole; and this isn't a catchphrase your writer uses because she is out of words: Daryl Dixon was born in the older part of Hellhole, where all the older families of Hellhole lived, and no, this isn't something one would be proud of. It was a stretch of old houses with abandoned gardens and angry dogs on a leash, situated near the Old Buck Woods. The new Hellhole started here, by the people sick and tired of the miserable lives condition and decided to build something more salubrious for themselves and their family. The old Hellhole was still a part of the city, but was mostly ignored and their inhabitants were put up with by the people, if they worked in the new Hellhole.

Daryl Dixon was born there, son of a drunken father and of a weak mother. He wasn't supposed to be that different from the other males of his family: a school dropout and a good for nothing chained to a string of shitty job until the drugs, the alcohol or God knows what would erase his life and memory. He had thought this of himself too but acting gave him a possibility to change what he believed was already set up for him. He was the first in his family to finish high school (not that his parents cared, Merle had complimented in his way, with a strong clap on the back and getting him drunk) thanks to his acting teacher, Mrs. Annette Greene. She had coaxed him into join the acting club, truth to be told she forced him for reasons Daryl still found unfathomable; she was convinced Daryl had something, and was by his side whenever he thought about leaving the club (mostly due to his father's beating, for he believed acting was for fags). She was the one who convinced him to go to college to study acting and managed to watch all the play he did. She died of cancer the year before Daryl had to return home; even though the news of her passing broke his hearth, he was glad she wasn't there witnessing his defeat.

Yes, he failed, but he tried hard (hence the catchphrase). He did more auditions that he could remember and supported himself with a modeling job; he had attended to acting workshops and useless parties, but nothing worked with him. He didn't know why he hadn't achieved success, he only knew he had to leave his shitty one-bedroom place and had to choke his pride and return to Hellhole, in his old house.

He had expected Merle's sarcasm and the knowing glances from the good citizens; he didn't expect them to hurt so much. He had stupidly forgotten how unforgiving people could be: if they assign you a role, nothing will ever change their opinion. He was a good for nothing Dixon, and he will ever be.

The only thing he could thank his father for, was that he had forced him and Merle to learn a job, if they wanted to eat (the bastard was always too drunk to keep a job for too long); Daryl had followed Merle's steps and become a mechanic. Merle had learned the ropes in prison (he had been judged as an adult threw there at sixteen years old), when he got out and Daryl was just two years old, he would drag the toddler with him at work to shield him from their father's abusive behavior. Daryl grew up into that old mechanic shop, it was his refuge when Merle got arrested again and Daryl was seven; he earned his first wage at ten years old: he had fixed an old mustang, all by himself. By that time Merle was already a druggie and was constantly going in and out from prison, he worked with Daryl sometimes, but mostly he was stoned. When Daryl came back, the situation with Merle wasn't changed that much, he only tried to stay out of prison as much as he could; with his drug problems, every time he was in, he was forced to join some detox programs. Sadly for Merle, his bad habits led him be the topic of Carol and Andrea conversation.

Merle was drunk that afternoon and he had to fix the oil pan of an old Toyota; unfortunately for him, Daryl was busy with a Harley Davidson and Jim was in his office, so nobody had controlled him when he had put the car on the deck. They didn't know what didn't work but suddenly Merle was screaming, his right hand crashed under the deck.

The doctors tried to save the limb (they tried really hard too, the irony!), but the bones were completely pulverized, the nerves smashed; probably a miracle could have saved the hand, but they were just doctors and had to cut it off.

Now Daryl had to try even harder: Merle had returned to work but was forcibly off-drugs, so Daryl had to monitor his painkillers intake whilst working his ass off to pay all the hospital bills and Merle's rehabilitation. From what the doctors had told him, it was going to be long and extremely painful for Merle, who already had phantom pains and didn't get along with the physiotherapist.

Daryl had never met her; Merle went to Dr. Hershel clinic by himself but whenever he spoke of Andrea, he spit venom. Truth to be told, Merle had a weird relationship with women: he could beat you into a bloody pulp if you manhandled a woman, but Merle himself didn't like women with a brain, his usual type were brainless minxes he found in local bars and Merle himself had never been your typical gentleman with any member of the fairer sex. This Andrea girl was a firecracker, from what he had understood from his brother's rants, she could put up with all Merle dished out, and in this period he wasn't the happiest person to hang out with.

Merle had always been moody the best times and the drugs had never helped this trait. From what Daryl knew about physiotherapy, Merle had to do exercises to keep the muscles of his remaining arm and forearm fit and capable of performing movements. In theory it seemed an easy task, Merle still had his elbow and the muscles that connected it to the shoulder hadn't been damaged. The problem were the muscles of the forearm and, mostly, of the wrist, plus Merle had to keep the arm still for a month after the operation and moving it again was more painful than what Daryl thought could be possible, since Merle's arm had already became slack. Daryl couldn't give Merle too many painkillers with his history of addiction, so he had to hide the pills near the graveyard where their parents had been buried. Daryl knew Merle would find the pills easily if he had hid them into the house or in the forest nearby, the cemetery was safe since Merle never went to visit their parents (neither did Daryl, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so…). Having to visit the gravestone every day, three times a day, wasn't his cup of tea: he had hated the old man so much to get drunk when the news of his passing had reached him in Hollywood. But he had to; furthermore he had to find another hiding place since Merle had been an addict and was tormented by the pain, but he wasn't stupid, in no time he would discover Daryl's plan, since Hellhole was small town and Daryl's trip to the graveyard would be noticed soon.

Those days his efforts to be a decent person, were the second big challenge of his life (the first was controlling Merle). He had never been the conventionally "people person" even after acting had helped him a bit out of his shell, and now he had to be decent to the people of Hellhole and he had to keep an eye on Merle, when what he really wanted to do was growling and burying himself somewhere where no people were around. The cherry on top of it? Merle's fit of violence directed to anyone and anything in his path, this included Daryl, who sported bruises, and their already wrecked house. Merle had tried to restore it, after their father's death, but was a useless attempt and the place was literally falling over their heads. Daryl didn't want to think about it right now, he didn't have the energy to be worried about it: he and Merle had slept in the woods when the things with their father went wrong, they could do it again, until Daryl had enough money and time to build the house again, whenever it would crumble.

The only positive thing was that Merle was ambidextrous; it might seem a stupid trait to stress my readers, but it was the only motive Merle still had a job at Jim's, because he could still work part-time; he usually had the afternoon shift, so he could do his physiotherapy in the morning. This was good for Daryl, because Jim was usually away in the morning; his wife had had their second son, and Jim was needed to help her. Jim wasn't a redneck, he didn't live in the wrong part of Hellhole, but he trusted Daryl. They had been raised together by Jim's dad, who had been the previous owner of the garage. The old man had hopes for both the Dixons brothers, they were oh so talented. When Merle started his long story of convictions he had poured all his attention on Daryl, whose only friend had been Jim, the only one to stick with Daryl during his life before he left Hellhole.

It was Jim who drove Daryl to the bus station on a rainy morning. They didn't share a word until the old Greyhound appeared; only then Jim looked into Daryl's eyes and told him he was there, if he ever needed help. Jim didn't blink when Daryl got back and asked for his old job; to Jim all those years hadn't passed, he needed a good mechanic (Merle was good, but he was _Merle_ and Jim needed someone he could trust) and Daryl was a God sent when it came to fixing object.

That morning he was disassembling the engine of an old tractor; the owner should probably buy another one, but the man couldn't afford it, so Jim gave Daryl the hopeless case. Daryl was elbow deep in mechanical parts when Carol entered the shop.

"Good morning" her voice was unsure, more than what she liked to hear.

Her car did some weird sounds on her way to Main Street; she knew the thing was old when she had bought it but again, like lots of things in her life right now, she had to accept and wait. At last she owned the car, which was a big step since her life with Ed.

She had stopped the worn out Ford outside the shop and sighed deeply: she wasn't comfortable with men; she had needed some time to adapt to Dr. Horvath and whenever she had to deal with the opposite sex, she felt uneasy and tense, ready to absorb the blows she thought would come. She knew not all the men were like Ed, but the reaction was an uncontrollably terrible reflex she feared she would never get rid of.

Carol stood in front of the open door and tried to peer inside but the sun behind her back shadowed everything and she tentatively called out; the place couldn't be closed, the shutter was up.

From under the tractor Daryl cursed at the voice, he had stuff to do and he was alone, fuck! He slid out of there and cleaned his hands with a worn out red rag

"What? - He snarled heading toward the figure in the doorframe; he immediately regretted his tone. He was supposed to greet people so they would come back and Jim didn't have to close the shop. He had to play it smart and the woman, yes she was thin but her silhouette was feminine, had hunched her head in her shoulder the very same moment he had barked his reply – how can I help you?" he tried to be more friendly, but the woman seemed to shrink herself as he approached her. He stopped on his tracks and slightly opened his arms, trying a gentler pose.

"My… my car, it is acting strange" God how she hated the way her voice had faltered and the way her body had curled on instinct as the man had spoken and came towards her. The man stood still until she removed herself from the doorframe before going outside, as if he had understood her uneasiness.

Daryl approached the Ford, opened the hood and grimaced

"You have to drive it inside so I can have a better look" the woman nodded but didn't meet his gaze. There was uneasiness in her movements that had Daryl think of hinds; the way she held her head up but her eyes watched him sideways, ready to run on the tense, bony legs. He thought he mustn't scare her more than she already was.

He worked in silence, but he already knew he had to tell her bad news

"But I need the car" she dared looking into his eyes. She hadn't understood what the problem was, but the mechanic had been clear on one thing: he had to work on the Ford for days and it would be expensive

"You can buy another one" it wasn't his problem what she was going to do, but she looked desperate

"I don't have that kind of money" she fiddled with her hobo bag. Buying the car had drained what little money she had, she couldn't afford a loan right now and Hellhole hadn't a good public transport system. What was she going to do?

"Listen – Daryl heard himself say – I can work on the main problem now. You can come the next months and I will fix the other stuff - he watched a small smile bloom on the woman's lips, her eyes brightened a little – as long as you don't overuse the old gal here"

"Thank you" the words flew from her lips without her thinking and Daryl shrugged, uneasy in his own skin

"I have work to do. Then I will start with her" he said gruffly and slid under the tractor.

Carol stepped out to call and tell she wouldn't come that morning; Andrea hadn't been happy to know she would have to be alone with Merle, but she understood. Merle was unpleasant, but wasn't that different from her other patients in Atlanta.

During the phone call Daryl had moved to Carol's Ford; when she came back, he was elbow deep in car parts. He sensed her movements; with a fast glance he saw her sit on the hood of a fixed Plymouth to better seek into the bag (he incidentally wondered what and how women managed to stuff all those objects into their bags) to retrieve a worn-out paperback from the local library and started reading, aided by the merciless sunlight that poured from the open door.

The garage was bare, apart from the two car decks and many red lockers Carol thought might contained the mechanic's tools.

Carol was glad the man was silently working on her Ford for she wasn't ready to interact with males she didn't know. She stopped herself from auto-kicking her own ass for this; she needed time and there was nothing wrong about it! She buried her nose in the book again but her stomach growled; time to feed herself.

Daryl sensed the wolfish noise her stomach made and stopped, surprised, for a moment: how in the name of God a woman that petite could produce e tumble like that? He heard her exiting the garage and he proceeded to concentrate on his job again, he had a particularly nasty piece to remove. He was so engrossed he didn't hear her coming back until it was too late and she was near the driver's side of the car, a cup of coffee in her hand

"I thought you may need a break" she said tentatively, offering the beverage but keeping herself at arm's length

"Thank you" Daryl's answer was gruff, Carol noticed he stepped back, hunching his head in his shoulders a bit. She wasn't the only one tense

"I'm Carol" she offered. She didn't smile, not wanting to give the wrong impression, but the man seemed so nervous, she hadn't thought of anything else to break the tension

"Daryl" his stance didn't falter, but he briefly met her eyes; he hadn't done it before, Carol noticed.

Somehow she thought things were going to be fine.


End file.
